Cherry Waves
by RH132008
Summary: It’s dark. It’s always dark here. Alone, I stumble through reality and try to find something in myself that just doesn’t seem to be there anymore.
1. Chapter 1

**Set after "Merry Little Christmas" or "Merry Little Christian," whatever it's called. House/Stacy of course. Lots of angst and drama for those who love it and those who deep down really love it. Come on, admit it, you know you want to.**

**Anyways! Here's my new story. The title is from a song called "Cherry Waves" and it's by The Deftones. The song is all about trust for those of you who have never heard it or didn't know. The lyrics can be found on my profile under favorites.**

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**Cherry Waves**

**by Jay**

**It's dark. It's always dark here. Alone, I stumble through reality and try to find something in myself that just doesn't seem to be there anymore. Whether I've lost it so deep inside of my soul, or just let it slip through my fingers when the pain was too much to bare, I have no idea. All I know is that I hate it - - the person I have become. Everyday waking up and going through the same routine of self loathing and hate, while the pain swallows my rationality, drowning it in a dark abyss of narcotics - - how did I get here? How did a bottle of pills get the best of me…..? And when did I stop being a human and start being…..this? **

**House awoke trembling. The hand that rest beside him inched slowly to his thigh, avoiding sharp movements to prevent any more provoking of the beast that live inside. It cut sharp, like razorblades, but with the delicious taste of agony from a chainsaw against the skin, it blinded him as a whimper caught in the back of his throat. Suffocating. Killing the birth of any breath in his lungs, the room begins to spin, raising bile to the tip of his tongue and a fresh burning to his eyes.**

**Hand flailing like a wounded bird so close to death, it creates a mind of its own, or maybe just out of instinct, and plunges into the drawer of the nightstand. Searching desperately, for the familiar feel of a pill bottle. Soon enough, the click of the cap echoes through the room as it falls to the floor and the pills rattle against the plastic, calling out for relief.**

**He downs three and it burns so bad against his throat he's almost sure he's going to gag, but for some odd reason it doesn't happen. With his mind so far from forming any thoughts at all, especially rational ones, the only thing he's able to do is lay back and wait for the pain to recede so he can function and get ready to start his day.**

**Ten minutes later, after the fog has cleared from his brain and the pain level has gone from "excruciating" to "tolerable excruciating," House cautiously stretches his leg in an attempt to relax the muscle. It's stiff and sore like it is every morning, but beyond comparison this has been one of the worst in a while. Slowly, he slips out from under the comforter and grabs the handle of his cane from its place under the bed. Dangerously testing the amount of pressure his leg is going to allow him this morning, as a matter a fact, maybe for the rest of the day. After finding that it will be enough to get him to the bathroom, he sets a pace and makes his way there to get a shower going. He sets the temperature so that steam has gathered on the mirror, and the air is moist and thick before he even steps inside. After all, he's going to need it scolding hot if he wants to last the rest of the day without needing a wheelchair.**

**Even though House knows he's already late for work, he takes his time and lets the water pound against his thigh. Occasionally pressing his foot down lightly against the shower tiles to find a pressure he'll be able to handle the rest of the day, before tending to the rest of his body.**

**The water stops and the door opens to reveal a large puff of steam followed by House. The pain now dropping from "tolerable excruciating" to "very tolerable excruciating," as he grabs his cane and heads back to the bedroom to get dressed.**

**

* * *

The Hospital is so quiet for a Monday House isn't sure if it's because he's avoiding everyone or everyone's avoiding him. He is however, locked in his office with the blinds closed and the lights off so that is a point to take into consideration. Cuddy has yet to make an appearance and give him a good tongue lashing for being so late. Wilson has yet to do the same thing except with good ole Jimmy boy it will be another lecture on how he doesn't appreciate how lucky he is. Or if he doesn't do something now then his liver will be shot to hell within a year or two. Except, after a few minutes of contemplation, he remembers that Wilson will not be coming today, maybe never again.**

**No sweat though, he's heard it all before. Listening and taking into consideration their points more than he will ever let them know. Wondering if all of the articles and books on pain-management he reads are ever going to be enough to help him find the right pain meds and be able to live life free of an addiction. Sometimes the only way to know is diving in head first. Falling before you can get back up and say you know what it feels like. Consideration, it's all House seems to think about when alone with his own thoughts for to long. To fall, or end it all. It's ironic how that rhythms. Maybe because their so close together in meaning to his situation. Either way, he knows something has to be done, he's just not sure if the natural stubbornness he posses will allow him to do so.**

**

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It's two o'clock when House officially makes his presence known in the hospital. After spending three hours of complete solitude in his office doing nothing but playing PSP, his stomach begins to sound like the engine on a monster truck, and he starts having second thoughts about skipping breakfast this morning.  
Though it wasn't really much of a choice. The mishap he had this morning didn't leave him with much of an appetite. Never does.**

**House can feel all the eyes burning across his skin as he passes by trying to get to the cafeteria, hospital staff mostly. Usually he would stop to glare. Show them that he couldn't care less what they think of him right now, though maybe he should; hell maybe he should even apologize. Only, he knows he too proud for that. To proud to let them see even a little flicker of weakness he knows they want so badly, just to be able to say that even Gregory House can screw up. Too late, he thinks, you all missed it; I already screwed up a long time ago."**

**The cafeteria is nearly full from what he can see as he enters the line, which is thankfully vacant. Today he's really not in the mood to deal with idiots. Aside from actually paying for his own lunch today, which includes a Ruben, chips and Red Bull, he also tries not to let the fact that the seat usually reserved for him opposite of Wilson is now filled by someone he doesn't know, probably someone he doesn't want to know.**

**Somehow, for some reason, the thought that he has probably been replaced doesn't seem to bother him, or at least he thinks it isn't bothering him. It doesn't matter anyways, because they haven't spoken since he got back from rehab and he fell back into the same habit of taking countless amounts of pills a day. Actually, it doesn't trouble House as much as it might have a long time ago. Partly because he doesn't blame Wilson for getting out when he did. It's much easier to deal with something when you have severed all emotional ties, much like he does when diagnosing a case; it makes him a better doctor. Maybe this will make Wilson a better person.**

**He exit's the cafeteria without a second glance back and is just about to step into the elevator when the sound of his name echoes around the walls. The agitation is clear on his face as he stuffs the Red Bull into his pants pocket and turns around to face Cuddy. There is a hint of something on her features and in her eyes that he can't quite place, but he's sure what ever it is he's not going to like it. Which is why he's not in the least surprised when she asks him to follow her to her office.**

**Of course he thinks about just turning around and carrying on with what he was doing before her interruption, but curiosity be damned he's intrigued not only by his interesting find in her, but also wants to know why it took her until now to find him. Any other day she would be hot on his heels ready to scream like a banshee.**

**They enter her office and he notices that she makes sure the door is closed behind them; that can't be a good sign. However, House makes himself at home on the couch that is way to comfortable to just be for show, and sinks his teeth into his sandwich to settle the pains that have now erupted from waiting to eat to long.**

**Cuddy watches him as he chews in silence, carefully opening his chips with one hand and slipping the Red Bull from his pocket with the other. He's seems content in finishing his lunch here as he sets up his meal on the coffee table in front of him. She ponders for a minute whether to let him eat first or say what she brought him here to say.**

**It's only when she opens her mouth to speak, she notices before her words even hit the air that he's studying her like he studies the white board in his office when he has a case. The fact sends a panic through her that she hopes to god isn't visibly showing itself through her body language. His stare is so intent and his eyes are boring so far into hers she starts to feel uncomfortable and vulnerable until the point where she can't take anymore violation and tears her gaze away from his.**

**"House," Cuddy begins.**

**He cringes mentally while taking another bite of his Reuben, wishing that he would have just continued to his office earlier because now, after raping her eyes, he has some clarity as to what she wants to tell him, and if she wants to say what he thinks she wants to say, then he has some interviewing to do.**

**"Chase isn't coming back," she continues then stops. House nods almost regretfully but doesn't look at her while taking a gulp of his drink.**

**"I expect you to start interviewing tomorrow; I'll be sending them in starting at nine o'clock sharp. So try to be here ON TIME." He hears her say, the exaggeration of the last part warms the back of his neck with anger and he grips his sandwich tightly. So tightly his thumb leaves a print in the bread. He fights the urge to scream at her so she will know why he was late, but instead just continues on with eating. Besides, the last time he screamed at her ultimately ended up with him apologizing in such a subtle way he wasn't if she knew he even meant it or not. If only she knew how much he had, then maybe they could go back to the way they used to be.**

**Cuddy left him to eat. Not feeling there was anymore to be said, though she did find it quite odd, very odd, that he didn't say a word the whole time. She would just have to ask Wilson later, right now she had a meeting with some prospective investors.**

**House crumbled the napkin and chips together while chugging the last of his Red Bull and tossing them all in Cuddy's trash can. He knew a long time ago that Chase wouldn't be coming back. That his long vacation was just another way of saying he was finding another job, he just wished he would have let it click in earlier than this so he could have gotten this new hiring a new duckling thing over with quicker. With Wilson not there it was going to be more boring than a Brady Bunch marathon.**

**Whatever, he thought trudging back to the elevator, I don't need all this sh!t today. Especially any of these imbeciles Cuddy calls a hospital staff.**

**The elevator stopped at the Diagnostic wing and House got out. He glared at an elderly woman as she smiled at him while passing by. Five o'clock would never come soon enough.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It's the smirk on my face I can't seem to get rid of. The bitter, self indulgent rage in the pit of my stomach that infests and infests until a dark shade of red bleeds into my eyes. Falling hard. My identity is a useless certificate with numbers now. Every time my reflection replays in the mirror it becomes the definition of a perfect stranger my eyes can't connect with. If this is how it's supposed to be; my fate, whether I believe or not, then life has no meaning. Mine anyways. Today's irony; realization. You can't truly believe until you know what you thought was the truth is a lie.

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Around here his ego is bigger than the universe itself. Like the king of a castle practicing an evil dictatorship in which no enemy could overthrow. The pool table was his domain, and the cue stick in his hand a powerful sword in which the helpless peasants who dare to challenge him were slain with.

What a wonderful fantasy to celebrate his victory. House smirks at the poor soul who had just lost and thinks about feeling sorry for the kid. He never even stood a chance; his game is so far off it isn't eve on the chart.

The satisfactory builds up while he gathers the enormous amount of cash he's just won. Up five thousand dollars in only two games, that's double the amount of last Thursday. "I really need to stop being the best at everything," he thinks happily.

Since there is no one stupid enough to try and go toe to toe with him now, House heads to the bar. Ready and willing to splurge on a couple of drinks with his winnings before going home.

There is an aroma of stale cigarettes in the air as he waits for the bar tender to come back that makes him crave for a cigar, which any other day would be sitting in an ashtray next to him. Except it's not there; calming his nerves like he would like it to be simply because things have changed. Sometimes he wonders if for the best or for the worst.

The drinks finally return and he plucks the two scotches out of Mick's hands before the older man even has the chance to set them down. Though Mick doesn't mind; he has known and served House long enough to ignore his rude tendencies and bi polar moods.

House does his best to glare at Mick while he returns to serving the rest of his customers. It makes him uneasy when people don't react to him; makes him feel like they think they know more about him than he would like them too.

While he shifts on his stool part of a conversation catches his ear, not because of what they're talking about but because the female voice sounds familiar. Too familiar actually.

Idly his eyes sweep across the room searching for a face to match it with, and that's when he spots her. Unconsciously he places his drink on the bar and watches.

Mesmerized by her beauty, there is a sudden feeling of refreshment that overwhelms him until there is nothing left but the impulse to look away.

Slowly he inhales until no more air will expand into his lungs. Of course it would feel like this. It always does when he sees her after a long time. Kind of like the feeling he got earlier last year when there was no more leg pain and he could finally run again. Those days he felt invincible.

Confidently with that memory in mind, he looks back up again and is appalled by the scene in front of him. It's one of those moments when you look at something and after you look at it again you see it in a completely different way. The beauty is still there but now the reality is also. Her eyes are glazed over with something he's only seen on himself, and he can almost feel the pressure of her grip around the shot glass beside her.

While he takes her in, he also notices that she hasn't looked up from her drink once since he's been staring. Staring, why is he staring anyways? Then he sees it; the man standing beside her that she's trying desperately to ignore.

He keeps placing his hand on her shoulder and she keeps shrugging it off. Laughing and looking back to his buddies like what he's doing is amusing, House wonders why she's keeps sinking lower and farther into the corner of the bar instead of threatening to serve his ass with some kind of a harassment charge. Then he remembers that she is probably drunk out of her mind, at least that's what it looks like.

House can feel the barrier between anger and rage flooding over. He quickly finishes his glass of scotch and throws some bills onto the bar top. Desperately he is trying to keep calm as he approaches closer to the other end of the bar.

There is nothing more he would like to do than break his cane over the idiot's face but that would most likely end up with him getting an unwanted beat down. Plus he knows no matter what anyone says, cripples and fights don't mix well.

Instead he pokes the guy in the back with his cane, aware that there are now several people watching. The man turns and allows House to get a good look at him.

His clothes are dirty with grease as is his brown hair, and if he wasn't sure that there was a person capable of looking like Shrek, then this guy would take the cake by a mile.

"What the hell?" Asks the man sharply.

House fights the urge to roll his eyes and instead grips his cane tighter.

"Listen buddy, your wasting your time here so why don't you just leave the nice lady alone and go find someone more your type; like say, a beagle."

"EXCUSE ME?"

"What did I stutter? You know when I first came over here I thought you were going to be stupid but now I can see your just plain dumb. Like I said leave her alone; that is unless you have the same dirty little secret she does."

The man looks at him and then to his friends who seem to be getting into bar room brawl position. House can feel the eyes burning into his back; this would definitely be a good time to explain.

"Oh all right I'll tell you!" he yells dramatically. Cautiously leaning in closer he whispers something that makes 'Shrek' do a double take.

The man sighs and angrily looks around, not wanting to believe it. "What a minute, how do you know that?"

House smirks. "Her and my sister," he says with a shrug.

The man looks back at the woman and thinks about it for a minute, deciding this guy with a cane had to be right if this woman wasn't interested in him. Suddenly he claps House on the back and thanks him before going to sit back down. Idiot.  
House can do nothing but stare at her. He's never seen her like this.

Quietly he takes the stool next to her and stays silent for a moment before taking her drink away.

"Hey!" she yells in protest, "give that back."

"You've had too much already," he tells her back gruffly.

Gently he lifts her chin up so they can be face to face. The feeling in the pit of his stomach the second their eyes locked is one of sorrow and warmth.

Her amazing brown eyes shine deep with the pain of something he is sure he doesn't understand; though at the same time, they also hold something he knows very well because he sees it almost everyday in his own. It is a loss of hope; something House knows can suck the life out of your heart just as it has done to his.

Before he can pry anymore, she pulls away and continues to look at her glass like before; only this time she grabs the whole thing and downs it in a single gulp. House watches her and can't stop the frown that begins to etch its way onto his face.

"Stacy," he says in an almost inaudible whisper.

She doesn't look at him, doesn't even move.

He knows he needs to get her out of here. Away from drinking herself into an oblivion that she will almost certainly regret in the morning. Except he has no idea how.

Like a lost puppy looking for its owner he feels helpless. How is he ever going to help her if he doesn't even know how to help himself?

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Good? Bad? Let me know. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**"In a sea of waves, we hug the same plank.  
(Saw your end...) Just as I had rehearsed it over in my brain.  
I saw your end..."**

**"Cherry Waves" - The Deftones**

**

* * *

**

**They've been surrounded in an awkward silence for at least ten minutes now.**

**He wants to move, take her someplace where she will stop poisoning her body because right now she's close to crossing the border into too much, and he's on the brink of giving up.**

**House can hear her incoherent slurs banging at his ears and begging to be analyzed but he doesn't let them get any farther than that. He's already breaking the rule that always seems to become invisible when she's around.**

**The rule about not caring.**

**Though he's not an idiot. He knows he's emotionally attached to her in such a way that there is no breaking free. The problem is he thinks his mind just might be cruel enough, and his heart just might be icy enough that it will allow him to walk away without feeling an ounce of guilt. He's also aware that there is nothing more than a tiny dose of apathy that can be used to cure this situation.**

**There is something else though, as he looks into her eyes once again; her bleary drunken eyes, that makes his chest burn. It's weird in the way that he feels by leaving her here, alone and abandoned to god knows what, that it will be the biggest most critical mistake in his life.**

**House turns back to her then. Her lips have long since stopped moving and now her eyes are lowly hooded in the shadows or their lids.**

**She's definitely about to pass out, and he sure as hell is not going to be able to carry her by himself. On second thought, he probably could but he's sure the scene would be ungraceful and ugly, ending up with him falling flat on his face.**

**There is of course a drink in front of her; whiskey to be exact, that he takes and downs before she has the chance to. He openly ignores her glare of protest and tosses some twenties on the bar, hoping that will cover it.**

**"Come on, it's time to go," he says offering her a hand.**

**Stacy pushes him away. Her head shakes tightly from side to side while her vision tries to focus on his face. "No, I have more drinks coming." she slurs.**

**House growls lowly while trying to keep his irritation from growing. "NO, YOU DON'T,….I already paid now come on."**

**His hand slips around her wrists and gives a gentle tug which she complies to. It surprises him that she is actually able to stay steady on her feet for a few seconds while he grabs his cane.**

**Now comes the hard part; actually walking. They take a step and he immediately grabs her waist before she takes a tumble. No reason to take any chances, because he knows if she falls, he falls along with her.**

**They make it to his car finally after about five minutes of stumbling and he buckles her into the passenger's seat. She's already out by the time he makes it to the driver's side and gets the engine running, which to say the least, he is quite thankful for.**

**The drive is not as long as he would have liked, but it isn't as quiet as he would have liked either. His mind is like acting like a bad game of charades right now; it won't shut up and it can't find the right answer to his questions It's a relief when they arrive at his place. Taking care of her and making sure she doesn't choke on her own vomit tonight should be enough to occupy him from his own thoughts; but right now he has a bigger problem to think about, like getting her out of the car and inside.**

**The darkness is overwhelming while he tries to help her with her steps and keep himself steady at the same time. They almost trip twice on the way in, but by some miracle and his trusty cane House saves them from their fall and they make it safely.**

**Inside, the couch is only a few feet away from where they're standing and since she has already passed back out again House gently lays her down for now and goes to the kitchen.**

**Steve is rattling all over the place in his cage when House approaches him, and the old diagnostician can't help but smile at the rat. He lifts the little fur ball out of his cage and sets him on his shoulder for the time being. It almost draws a chuckle out of House when he crawls off of his shoulder and onto the top of his head, but the action quickly loses its humor when one of Steve's claws scrapes across his scalp.**

**"GOD DAMN!"**

**House seethes through gritted teeth and removes Steve from his head. The rat almost seems to smile back at him, there's a twinkle in his eye which causes House to glare at him. He sets him back in his freshly cleaned cage and closes the door while reaching up to feel for any blood. Thankfully there is none but he gives Steve one last glare any way and opens the cupboard.**

**He takes out a glass and fills it with water then returns to the living room, but not before grabbing a couple of Tylenol; he places them on the coffee table.**

**Letting her take the bed was what he originally had planned, but right now he's to exhausted to even think about trying to get her up, let alone move her himself. So instead he grabs an extra blanket and pillow from the hall closet and makes her a bed on the couch. Placing the blanket over her and the pillow under her head, House decides that he is just going to have to wait until morning to find out what's going on with her.**

**Right now, the only thing he wants to do is take a shower and go to sleep, but he knows he should really keep an eye on Stacy. With as many drinks as she downed tonight it's lucky she didn't get alcohol poisoning.**

**He sighs solemnly and digs the pill bottle out of his pants, dry-swallowing a few. The bitter taste sticks around in his mouth as he goes to take a shower.**

**The hotness of the water as it hits his body is incredible, and for a moment he lets his head rest against the wall. All the stress from the day seemed to melt slowly away until House can hardly keep his eyes open.**

**He fights hard to clean himself and eventually finish his shower while moving at what seems like a snail's pace. When his pajama pants are finally on and there's a soft cotton t shirt on his back, he limps back into the living room with the blankets from his bed and sets them on the old leather recliner he's had since his college days.**

**Anywhere seems like the perfect place to sleep right now though.**

**House hurriedly returns to the bathroom to brush his teeth, but just as he wipes the remains of Crest off his mouth, a thundering shatter erupts throughout the house.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**"If the waves suck you in and you drown**

**If like you should sink down beneath... I'll swim down. Would you? You."**

**"Cherry Waves" - The Deftones**

**

* * *

It's there. Anxiety. Fear. Rage. Anger. Hate. Adrenaline. Pain. Drowsiness. Exhaustion. All of it, surging thickly through his body and making it hard to breathe.**

**"Dr. House?"**

**The doctor in question sighs deeply and turns to look at the man addressing him.**

**"I'm Detective Adams," he says.**

**House studies him quietly while Adams pulls out his notepad. He appears to be in his late twenties, early thirties, but it's hard to tell because he looks so tired. There is a frown traced into his features that never seems to go away, and the dark circles under his eyes suggests that he hasn't slept in days.**

**"Can you tell me what happened?"**

**"What? The shattered window in my living room and the bullet holes in my walls aren't explanation enough?" House asks irritably.**

**Adams sighs; it is way too late for this. "Sir I understand it's very late and we both seem to be tired, but could you bare with me and spare the sarcasm for another time?"**

**House glares at him unevenly through hazy eyes, there is another comment on his tongue but he decides to hold back and just get it over with. The last time cops were in his place too long things didn't end very well.**

**"Fine," he decides finally.**

**"Good, now lets start with who the woman on your couch is and why she's so heavily intoxicated."**

**Groaning, House rubs a hand over his face. What the hell was he supposed to say now?**

**"She's my ex-girlfriend. I was at a bar earlier and she was there getting smashed when some guy started hitting on her; he wouldn't leave her alone so I took her home with me. I didn't want to just leave her there----if I had she would've ended up trashing her liver."**

**"Okay," Adams replies, scribbling into his notepad before looking back up at House. "This guy, did he give you any trouble? Maybe threatened you with violence?"**

**"No, after I told him she was a lesbian he thanked me and went back to his table of drunken idiots. Weird huh?"**

**"He believed you?"**

**"Trust me, this is the type of guy who would go outside and look if you told him it was raining cats and dogs. I really don't think it was him."**

**"Well, we still have to check into it but is there anyone else? Maybe you noticed someone following you, unusual phone calls, anyone have a beef with you about something?"**

**"No, nothing."**

**"Okay. Well for the time being is there anywhere else you can stay? Maybe with friends or family? Just until tomorrow for crime scene purposes."**

**House thinks about that for a minute, the word he used to be able to say dies on his lips before his tongue even has the chance to curl around it. Instead, he leans forward onto his cane for a moment and gets lost in the maze of kitchen tiles before looking back up.**

**"Family lives in another state; I'll get a hotel room."**

**"Well we're going to have to post two police officers wherever you decide, whoever might of done this could try to come back and make sure the job is finished. In the mean time, you may want to pack whatever it is you'll need for tomorrow." Adams says, still hastily writing in his notepad. "Also, we'll need to have your ex-girlfriend----what is her name?"**

**"Stacy Warner."**

**"Right, we are going to need her to come down to the station and give a statement."**

**"What the hell do you mean you need her to come down and give a statement!? She wasn't even awake for any of this, not to mention sober enough to remember anything."**

**"I understand that Sir but if this has nothing to do with you, it may have something to do with her; you could have just been unlucky enough to get caught up in the crossfire."**

**"Wait, so let me get this straight, someone shoots up my house, which she's never been to by the way, and you think someone's after her?"**

**"We can't eliminate any possibilities right now, someone could be following her, the only way we'll now is if we ask her questions."**

**"Fine, I hope some of your people can bring her," House says while motioning to his cane. "Because I can't really carry her."**

**"I'm sure we can arrange a stay at a hotel and I'll have one of the officers make sure she gets to the car and hotel safely."**

**"Don't worry about it; I'll make my own hotel arrangements. I've seen enough movies to see how you people arrange things."**

**There is a quick nod and a thanks from Detective Adams before he leaves to make the arrangements and let House pack. In the back of his mind he was wondering why he always had to deal with all the difficult people.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"You hang the anchors over my neck (Saw your end.  
I liked it at first but the more you laughed, the crazier I became."

"Cherry Waves" - The Deftones

* * *

It dark; and warm, although the warmth is actually nice. 

Her head feels like a jar overstuffed with cotton balls, and somewhere between the puffy white mess is a throbbing; slowly spreading across her skull.

The logical thing would be to just lay there and wait it out, but it occurs to her if she doesn't get up soon her bladder may very well explode, and the thought of anymore pain than she's already in is overwhelming.

With that thought in mind, she starts to sit up but immediately regrets it. An intense wave of nausea churns in her stomach, and causes her to throw a hand over her mouth before any of the bile racing up her throat can come out.

Like a flash, she staggers quickly to the bathroom, and within seconds she is on her knees heaving into the toilet. The sound is loud and wrenching; it's been years since she has drink so much she hasn't been able to hold her liquor, but now she remembers why.

By the time Stacy returns from the bathroom there is a sliver of sunlight peaking through the windows, and that's when she notices there is another person in the bed.

In her tracks, she stops momentarily and wonders if last night she broke the promise she made to herself a long time ago while in law school. The one about never having another one-night stand.

A sudden panic erupts throughout her system at the thought, and frantically she looks around for some indication that she is wrong. It isn't until Stacy glances at her attire her heart rate begins to slow again.

Though; wait a minute. A t shirt and boxers? "Shit," she thinks, "maybe it did happen after all."

This time everything in her body begins to ache and gets even worse when more light begins to spill through the window; she realizes she is in a hotel room. Everything inside her is telling her to get the hell out of there, but before she has a chance to look for her real clothes another voice enters the air.

"Go back to sleep," it moans miserably, "I'll explain later"

The tone is all to familiar, and her suspicions as to who it belongs to is no longer a secret when her eyes finally lock onto the cane propped up against the bedside table.

There are so many questions that flood her mind, but it all hurts too much to even think about asking, and she knows that there is no way she would ever get an answer right now anyways. Maybe it has to do with the hangover, or maybe it has to do with the fact that if only for a few hours she going to feel safe; either way she treks back over to the bed and does as he says. There will be plenty of time for answers later.

There is always a part of House that wants to feel for people. He will never admit it though, and there is no way he would ever act on it; simply because there's to much too lose. However, a tiny part of him sometimes thinks about what his life would be like and how differently people would react to him if he was nice. Though the pros always end up being outweighed by the cons, and he realizes it's not because of lack of effort; well, okay maybe it is, but that's only because the feeling is completely out of his control.

It's never what he's wanted, and House rarely ever does things he doesn't want to. The thought of caring about someone and letting them know it, to him, is a set up for disaster, because people are uncaring, lying, selfish bastards who in the end are only out for themselves. He definitely is, and people criticizing him for being what they truly are is what makes them idiots. Plus, it's not his fault he's been "blessed with the ability to do the math."

Who knows though. Maybe he's just a coward. Except you know what? By being a coward it gives him the ability to keep things uncomplicated, which is what makes him so good at his job.

Like a tortured scientist who is a genius at everything except social and personal relationships. A regular Einstein if you will. Every life you choose comes at some type of price, whatever it maybe; some people just have to pay more.

Lying there, House sifts through this whirlwind of thought. What possible conclusion could any of it come to other than being the person he is now? The answer is nothing. Life has always been dealing him a shitty hand of cards since the day he was born, the only time he actually seems to get a good hand is when he plays by himself.

"Whatever," he thinks, "Life is one big joke anyways, no use dwelling on it."

A quick glance over at the woman lying next to him though ensures that his current situation is definitely not a joke. Another silent groan escapes his lips again as he feels the gears start to turn; at this point his mind is never going to shut off.

House really can't think of anyone who wouldn't want to kill him, but nobody really sticks out in his mind. Which would mean whatever is going on could possibly have to do with her, but the thought of someone wanting enough revenge to kill Stacy is absurd.

Whatever seems to be going on he wants it over as soon as possible; not that he doesn't care someone might be trying to kill him but he really doesn't want to have to deal with cops anymore. Bad experiences have left him scarred once again and the thought of maybe running into Tritter twists his stomach into a knot. The asshole nearly ruined his life the first time, not to mention having turned it upside down so why take another chance at fucking everything over more than it already is?

Stacy doesn't wake until later on that afternoon around three. The nausea is gone but the dull ache beneath her forehead remains.

Blinking, her eyes open groggily to scan the room but House is nowhere to be seen. No matter, she still needs to think of something to say to him anyways, even if it may be a lie.

With everything that's going on right now it's probably better if he doesn't know the truth; hell, she doesn't even want to admit it to herself yet. Last night she had done exactly what she had set out to do, and that was to lose herself completely to the point where she couldn't even think; and it worked, but not exactly the way she had planned. Running into House was definitely not on her to do list, but everything is so screwed up right now it makes her wonder if anything that happens makes a difference or not.

A yawn escapes her lips when she finally sits up which makes the pounding behind her eyes speed up a little bit; absentmindedly her hands travel to the aspirin and water on the bedside table.

After downing them, her feet shift forward to meet the carpet and she's up looking for her clothes from yesterday. Finding them with ease, she heads to the bathroom and finds a note on the mirror.

_Stacy,_

_Went to go get some food_

_Greg._

Straight and to the point she thinks while running some bath water. After testing the temperature she looks at the note again and it makes her a bit eerie. There are some sentences that are crossed out and it bugs her that she doesn't know what they say; though as she thinks about it some more the feeling starts to go away. They're probably just some ugly remarks or some type of metaphor that didn't fit as well as he would have liked.

Her bath isn't rushed but it isn't long either. She decides that she wants to be ready by the time House gets back that way she doesn't have to wait for answers as to why he is here and why she is in a hotel room. Honestly she hasn't the bleakest idea; the last thing she can remember is ordering her third shot of vodka at the bar, after that it's all one big blur. Hopefully he will be able to fill in the holes for her, even if she does have to sift through dozens of analogies.

The only thing she can do now is wait, and how better to do that than watch some TV.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"And the waves suck you in and you drown.  
If like you should sink down beneath"

"Cherry Waves" - The Deftones

* * *

House arrives a little later with takeout in one hand, and two sodas in the other. He isn't surprised at all when he finds Stacy awake lying on the bed, watching TV half asleep; having only left an hour ago to go get them something to eat, he figured that she would be awake by the time he got back. 

It's a relief in one way and not so much the other, because even though he really wants to find out what the hell is going on so he doesn't have to be escorted by a cop everywhere; it would also be nice to be able to go home and feed Steve without worrying about being shot at.

Though the only way he can do either of these things is to get Stacy down to the police station and see if she knows anything. The bad thing about it is he doesn't want to have to face her, or have to talk to her for that matter.

Limping into the small room he purposely avoids her stare and heads to his side of the bed; still avoiding any eye contact while he wordlessly hands over one of the bags and a soda. His eyes remain on the TV, and after few minutes when Stacy realizes that he's not going to say anything right now, she begins to eat.

A half an hour goes by and they finish their food through a tension not even a chainsaw could cut. The silence is so awkward that House actually starts to believe it's getting a little tougher to breathe, and the grating effect that it's having on his nerves is phenomenal.

It's both funny and annoying that she's being so quiet, because she's never quiet; this quiet anyways. Usually she'll make some little comment to try and get him to talk, or a noise---anything, but she's not and it's making him want to lash out of her, which is inwardly making him want to lash out at himself for letting it bother him so much.

It's all starting to turn into a vicious circle he doesn't like, and needs to stop before he ends up pulling his hair out.

"SO. Guess what happened last night," House snaps impatiently.

Stacy glares at him quizzically, mainly for being so loud, but also because she knows that he knows she has no idea.

"WELL, I'm sure your going to tell me," She snaps back. "You have your 'I know everything in the world' tone on so let's hear it."

House is a little a taken back by the bitterness in her voice, but doesn't allow himself to miss a beat.

"Well If you HAVE to know, you got st-faced drunk and when I dragged your a all the way back to MY house; to avoid letting you get molested I might add, someone thought it would be funny to pull a Rambo and blow a gigantic fking hole through my living room. Now either someone's trying to assassinate me or this has something to do with you; bad deal with a loan shark maybe?"

Stacy has no idea what he was talking about. She has no memory of any of these things, and this certainly didn't have any thing to do with her; did it? "No, of course it didn't," she concludes after thinking about it.

"What are you talking about," she asks trying to find her voice again.

House rolls his eyes. "What? Do I have to write it down?" "I said last night; which is probably a giant black hole for you. We were at the same bar and this guy was trying to hit on you. Though you were probably to drunk to even make it through the foreplay. I saw you and thought I would do my outstanding deed as a good citizen by getting you out of there before the dumba tried to rape you or something. Anyways, when we got to my place you passed out on the couch and right before I went to sleep someone shot out my front window with a machine gun."

"Okay," she whispers quietly, taking in all of this information. The whole thing is absolutely ridiculous and now she knows for sure never get that drunk again, too many things have happened.

"So what?" She says, suddenly turning back to House. "You think this has to do with me? Greg do you know how many ex-patients that probably want you dead? You probably just pissed off the wrong one."

"Oh, so it's all my fault then, sure. Let's blame it all on me. Pretty fking typical isn't it"  
There is a brief silence from her and he gets up to walk over to the window; it's a desperate will to calm himself that inevitably is not going to work.

"What is your problem?" She finally asks. "You said you just took me home with you, WHICH I'm thinking implies that I never asked you. So now you want to sit here and blame me for something that was completely out of my control? If it was going to be this much trouble you should have just left me there!"

"Maybe I should have," House spits back acidly. He doesn't mean it but saying anything otherwise would mean admitting that he saved her from something. It would mean admitting that he cared.

"And my problem, is that I got stuck in this stupid hotel room all night, and now I can't even go anywhere, let alone my house because it's a crime scene, without a police escort to avoid getting shot. So excuse me if I'm a little edgy, but my god damn leg hurts and the one thing I want to do, go home, I can't."

To say the least she is stunned; it makes her wonder why he is being so hateful and acting like it's all her fault, but she is afraid to ask anything else. The next answer she gets may be as wounding as the last, and no matter how good she has learned to hide it, that still doesn't stop it from hurting.

They are silent for a while but House is the first to speak again, this time his voice is wavy and tired.

"Look, the cops need you to come down to the station and make a statement, ask you some questions….are you ready to go?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" she replies icily. "Lets go, I wouldn't want to be more of a burden the I already have been."

House ignores her, and grabs his overnight bag, already making his way to the door. The sooner this is over the better off everything will be.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"I get all...numb

We're the same numb And it brings our knees to the earth"

"Minerva" - The Deftones

* * *

"So Mrs. ------Warner," Detective Adams begins. "I am assuming that you don't remember anything from last night; is that correct?"

Stacy grits her teeth at his question, but can't help from feeling a little embarrassed. Knowing that she was blacked out in front of a bunch of cops, especially if they were as cute as this one; makes her want to apologize.

"Yes; and it's not Warner anymore it's Blake. My husband and I got divorced so I decided to change back to my maiden name." She explains.

"Thank you, for that clarification," he replies somewhat grimly. "Now, I see here from your file that you are a lawyer, which means you should know how important telling the truth is."

"Oh great," she thinks, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Here comes the typical psychological guilt trip."

"Detective Adams you say that like I have a reason to lie, and if that's the case I can assure you I have nothing to lie about."

He chuckles lightly, "hmmm, well then, I guess you won't have any objections to answering a few questions then right?"

"None what so ever," She smiles lightly.

* * *

House has no clue why he still has to be here, or why it's taking so long. How much time could it possibly take to ask her who might be trying to kill her?

It's times like these when he starts to long for the Vicodin tucked so neatly away in his jacket pocket. Normally nothing would get in his way of getting pain relief but with all that's happened, he dare not even think about waving around a prescription bottle in this place. Doing so almost seems like a death sentence.

There are lots of people buzzing around, some in uniform, some not. He tried to count them awhile ago but it was almost impossible once a whole parade of guys in handcuffs came waltzing in; he decided they were probably from a drug bust since half of them looked like they were about to overdose, and the other half had no idea where they were. "Oh well," he thinks. "At least they're getting all of those REAL drug dealers off the streets."

The argument he and Stacy had earlier is something he's pushed aside until later. It was his fault he knows, but things have just been snapping inside of him lately. Some of what he says House isn't even sure where it comes from, although when the words come out it's almost like a weightlessness engulfs his body and causes a euphoric state. Like the anger inside is what he uses for a sweet release. The only downside to this is it always makes him tired afterwards.

There is a rustling of leaves outside that makes House want to go for a ride on his bike. The clean October air triggers this effect inside him he decides. Riding ninety plus miles per hour on the open road would be like a dream right now compared to the current nightmare going on. Even working in the clinic would be better than this.

* * *

Stacy finishes the interview with confidence and Adams directs her out of the room. Like she thought there was nothing she could tell him that would be useful. How is she supposed to know why someone is trying to kill House, maybe even herself anyways? The way she's been living the last six months is bland enough, and to think that anyone is after is crazy.

They meet House at the end of the hall where he is loudly thumping his cane on the floor, and Stacy takes the chance to take him in since he hasn't looked up yet.

She doesn't need to see his face to know he's died a little more inside since the last time she's seen him. The exhausted slump in his shoulders tells her that he's probably close to giving up a with each passing day. It's a feeling that she herself can relate to, except she tells herself that it will pass, hopes it will. Another thing is a sense of defeat his body radiates if you get close enough; it speaks a world of depression that almost makes her want to hug him.

That's as far as she gets before he finally looks up and causes her to cast her eyes somewhere else. Adams stops in his once easy stride beside her as they reach House; he lets out a sigh that doesn't sound good for any of them before speaking.

"Well, I know I originally said it would only be one night but given the current status of this investigation I'm afraid both of you are going to have to stay in police custody for the time being."

"WHAT?"

"I'm sorry Dr. House but it's in both of your best interests…"

"I don't care what YOU THINK is in my best interest right now, I want to go home, I have a pet rat to feed, and I have work for god's sake."

Stacy can't stop the snicker that spills out of her mouth and House glares at her; she can't believe that he actually kept that stupid rat.

"What's so funny?" He asks sharply.

She shakes her head, not in the mood to start another argument right now. Adams watches the both of them and begins to get a headache from all the glares they are exchanging.

"Look," he interjects. "I know you two are ex's and you probably don't like each other from what I'm seeing now; but it's either that or be gunned down for a reason your not even sure of. So I ask, do you want that, or do you want to play by the law and find out who wants you dead?"

House switches his glare to the detective before him, still not understanding why this has anything to do with him.

"Why should it be both of us?" He asks, except he already knows the answer; it just feels good to bitch about something.

"Because we still don't know which one of you they're after yet. Now, here's what's going to happen. We'll stop back by both of your houses so you can get some clothes and feed whatever animals you may have before I drop you off at the hotel. By tomorrow if nothing unexpected happens, you'll be able to go back home and we'll post a cop car by each of your homes to be on the look out for suspicious activity Ok?"

House just sneers at him and Stacy nods, neither are exactly liking any of this but what choice do they have? Die?

"Wouldn't be any sweat off of my back," House thinks at first. The images of his body pumped full of bullet holes convinces him otherwise though.

"Good, Both of you just wait here and I'll see what I can do about getting you separate rooms for the night.

Then he was gone. Leaving House and Stacy once again alone with each other.


End file.
